Time, a nauseating crawl.

I’m watching as the seconds tick by on the digital screen. Fast. But not fast enough. Eyes lifted up to the screen, hollow. Half-stoning. Mind drifting away. Take a peek at the watch again, two minutes. Restless. The person beside me jots down notes. Earnestly. While the teacher gives her precious comments on the group’s presentation earlier. Comments? Or judgments? Criticism? To spur the students on, or to simply kill time? She takes a quick glance at her watch. Secretly waiting for the lesson to be over, I bet. I shift my eyes back to my notes. Doodle a smiley and spam dots at the side. Not interested at all. Brain is dead. I’m just in my own corner of happy with this scrap of foolscap and the pen in my hand. Thinking. Thinking about….nothing. My thoughts at this point have become too incoherent to be scripted down, one by one. I’m humming my favourite song while I write. While others are actively engaged in the discussion about… about what? Oh yes the comprehension. A man comes in suddenly. Informs us about the honeybees whose homes have been destroyed by yesterday’s storm. He warns us to be quiet and travel in small numbers. I laugh at this unexpected scene with a dreamlike quality. He leaves and I look out the window. Honeybees…dancing in the air. Frantically. In a swirl. Before my thoughts flew with them, the bell rings. End of another school day, hurrah. Bliss.

Another

I am not unaware that maturity sets in at different stages in different people. But it can get annoying when I find people being unable to see things the way I do, but viewing things in a one-sided manner, being over-anal about insignificant details. I understand that some people cry, scratch their heads, and ultimately find themselves back at square one. But seriously, many things just lie within one self. Whether you want to, or not. There isn't any 'I can't' if you could just stop shutting that option out even before you measure the possibilities. When things seem not you, it calls for a change. A change within. Is it so hard to comprehend, even?
Every day, judgments are passed. Within you, within me. Unfiltered, scathing remarks. Words carelessly dished out. It's very simple. You hand in a report and when it comes back, the comments down in red ink on the side read 'flawed assumptions'. You have been judged. Nobody likes this feeling. Because nobody really knows what we're like, so how can anyone just judge us based on what they think? But isn't this the way society functions? People live with judgments because they think it gives them a mind of their own. But what happens if you've misjudged? A lapse in judgment? Truth is, you'll never know. Ever since I've read that we too have flaws that we ourselves are utterly blind to, I always check myself when people around me start judging others. When I see and become clear of my own flaws, what others are judged by don't matter anymore. I don't wanna join in any of such judgements, but thoughts inclined to them would unwittingly surface in my head. Contradicting....isn't it? Conforming is the last thing I'd wanna do, and rejoice, because despite the circumstance I always manage to find peace, where things are between only God and myself. ^^

I haven't read TKMB for ages. Haha how I used to do that so frequently I never wanted to touch it again. No more TKMB, no more Atticus, no more Aunt Alexandra, no more 'coexistence of good and evil', no more 'superficiality of women'. No more Vinod, no more Saloma, bird, symbols, robbery the turning point, no more vulnerabilities and insecurities. No more enjambment, rhyme, repetition, metaphor, imagery. I remember how I used to argue through every piece of essay.. the adrenaline rush when my head's bombarded with thoughts and my hand can't stop writing....how pensive I was whenever I sat down and analysed the question like how Ms Rani always did. I really miss having Lit lessons, writing Lit essays, penning down my most original thoughts. I have always loved Lit, because it's the only subject that makes me feel most myself. Because when I write, I use my own points, I have my own stand, and I support it to win and convince the reader over. Because they are the most original, unaltered ideas that come from me, myself. And I feel good every time I am able to complete an essay thoroughly with all my innermost thoughts voiced out.

I really miss Lit. Really. It has always been my passion...but why did I give it up?